Mirror musings
by NightCoffee
Summary: One shots and drabbles of various lengths, no planned plot or length, and all include Regina and a mirror. Chapters are in the world of my story "Meatloaf" (although they might play out at any moment from her infancy until her death).
1. The line

**In Camelot, roughly one week after they arrive there.**

* * *

"Looking for a belly?"

Robin had just returned to their bedchamber from breakfast in the great hall. Regina had been a bit under the weather, and had chosen to stay in bed a bit longer to avoid any questions that were certain to arise if she turned up green and picking her food. It seemed like nobody had questioned the "Saviour's" morning headache Robin had told about, and he was quite confident that nobody but perhaps Snow would be pestering Regina about her health. Right now, however, he stood by the closed door and watched his girlfriend stay naked in front of the full-length mirror, looking at herself from every angle with her brows knitted. No matter how hard he tried, he could still not see a hint of baby belly.

"No," she kept tracing the area below her bellybutton while looking intently in the mirror. "The line has appeared again."

"What line?"

"The pregnancy line I get from my pelvis to my bellybutton"

"You sound sombre; is it not to your liking?"

"Oh yes, I quite like it, actually. It assures me I'm not just imagining…"

"Then what?" He went on to kiss the junction between her shoulder and neck, and she inadvertently giggled and raised her shoulder to her cheek.

"I feel in limbo. Right now, I want to announce it to the world, stand on a hilltop and shout it for everybody to hear. And I know I can't, for an amount of reasons. It's not safe here. We're in a precarious situation." She sighed. "And no matter how optimistic I claim to be, I can't shake the fear that it will end, like the rest. I don't know if I can take it! I don't know how I did before either."

"Love, please try to relax. It's not good for anything to worry about the future. At least this specific future. Does anything indicate that it's not going right?"

"No, but I hardly got any warning before either. Like, one day it was, the next day, mayhem, then nothing."

His heart bled for her, but he couldn't do anything but hug her tightly from behind and kiss her temple.  
"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry" he mumbled into her hair.

"I know."


	2. Rituals

**Some time during Robin's trip to New York**

* * *

The house was finally quiet and dark. Only the moon lit up the rooms, and she sat down on the bed to take off her heels. Her heart was beating furiously, her throat constricted and made it harder to breathe, and her glance flitted quickly to the window. Nothing there. She got off the bed again and drew the blackout curtains before she turned on the lights.

In her wardrobe, she found a pile of neatly folded cloths of different sizes, and in one fluent movement, she had put them over every mirror and shiny object in the room. She went into the en suite and did the same thing there. Then she swivelled around her axis to see if she had missed anything. When she was sure she had everything covered, she performed a silent spell, and went back to her bedroom to repeat it there.

She let out a deep breath and sat down on the bed again. Her heart rate was slowly getting back to normal, and she felt relaxed once more.

 _Magic comes in handy when mirrors are not available,_ she thought to herself as she removed her makeup in a swish and undressed before heading for the shower.

Being able to be completely on her own, and certain nobody was looking or listening in on her was a relief, _no_ , a necessity to keep her calm and wits during the day.

Henry had walked in on her during this nightly ritual the other night and wondering what she was doing. She had told him she was shutting out all reflections to keep it completely dark. He had looked at her as if she was a bit looney, but had shrugged it off as another of her new quirks he _really_ didn't need or want to delve into.

She, on the other hand, didn't need her son to know the extent of her fear of being watched. In actual fact, she thought she had outgrown it years ago, but alas, fear seemed to be just as ingrained in her as every other damned feeling.

Ever since Sidney had vanished from the map, she was on constant watch. She had no idea where he was, what he was up to, or if he had any interest in her at all. Or if he had gained some freak ability to jump between human and mirror.

The most important thing was that she could sleep, weep, go to the toilet, whatever, in peace. To be able to not be vigilant at all times. To have eight hours to just be Regina. And if that meant going through this thing every night for the rest of her life, so be it.

She crept under the duvet, turned off the lamp and fell into a blissfully dreamless slumber.


	3. Mother

**Set in 2x12 - In the Name of the Brother**

* * *

 _«He's not your son, he's mine!»_

 _Henry! Henry! HENRY!_

His name reverberated inside her skull, like there was nothing else there. Her heart was bursting, and she could do nothing about it. She could hardly cry. She wouldn't. At the moment, she was living in a world of black and white and reflective surfaces. Every one of the mirrors in her hidden lair in her vault reminded her to keep her exterior unfazed. She felt far from it, and averted her eyes as best she could. She was pacing. Pacing and thinking, in a rambling sort of way.

They could say it all they wanted, that she was not his mother. She knew she was. She felt it in every fibre of her body. And what made you a mother anyway? When does one become a mother? At conception? In that case, she had been a mother for about forty years, and thus outshined the lot – both in years and numbers, as far as she knew. Does a person shy of eighteen know how to feel like a mother? Of course! What a stupid question!

They had told her time and time again, in different ways, that her love was misguided, fake, and even poisonous. That her love was egoistic. True, when the first shock of finding out she was pregnant for the first time had abated, the sheer elation was nothing more than a private egoistic joy. At last she had something for herself. Something from herself. And she loved it. She loved the notion of it, she loved what it did to her body and mind, and she loved the prospect of a baby, a child, someone for her to love. But doesn't every mother? In it's core, isn't love somewhat selfish and selfcentered? What made her love less viable than theirs? Because she hated her husband and didn't love her stepdaughter? That didn't mean she didn't love her little one. She felt like she had someone in her corner, and her own little sprout of happiness.

You can't be dependent on others for your happiness. It's unhealthy to put that responsibility on others, and particularly on your child. Well, yes. Didn't she know? But if it was so bad to love her child, why did they behave no better? They loved their children, didn't they? A they clearly wanted to have them by their side, to have them with them. Even to the degree that they took him away from her and kept him for themselves? Didn't they want to protect Emma from her, back in the Enchanted Forest? Protect her from The Evil Queen? Why? Because of a connection during 9 months of pregnancy? Even there she probably had a couple of months on both of them. About eleven months of being pregnant. A few fleeting weeks of feeling the little one move inside, make somersaults, having fun, making mommy laugh and have a better time than she would ever imagine. But that was a lifetime ago. She was a mommy. Had been for decades. She knew it. The closeted mommy.

She wanted to lay down and cry, but she was empty of anything but the churning thoughts. She needed to hold her son. To have him with her. To know he was safe and happy. And warm. Cold babies don't live. They are born, but never living.

Do you become a mother at the birth of your child? She had been pregnant three times, but only one resulted in a birth. The first two were more like devastating periods. She never even felt them pass through her. But the boy; the bouncy little boy. He was born. Still, cold, blue. Oh, it was a birth, alright. And she was a mother. A mother without a child. Her heart had bled, her breasts wept, but her eyes had no tears. They gave her cabbage leafs to still the flow and soothe her breasts. She wanted that little boy. He would have made it all right. She had screamed and clawed at them, done everything in her minimal power to make them give him to her. They had wrapped him in the same sheets as the afterbirth, and all she ever saw of him was that red-blueish skin she would never touch. But she heard them mumble about such a tragic waste of an heir. That was the least of her concerns.

The moment you hold your child for the first time? Is that when the mother is born? She would never forget the moment he was put in her trembling arms. Her son. Her baby. Her little boy! If hearts could burst! And he screamed like he would burst. Nothing she did made it any better. Every waking hour he did not eat, he would scream. She shushed, fed and burped him. She changed his nappies and bathed him. She sang for him and told him stories. She even took him to that oaf Whale, who could find nothing wrong. And then the sudden quiet the moment Snow White, of all people, held him. It was the greatest stab to her mother heart thus far. Even back then he preferred his grandmother. Regina would die for him, then as now. She would. To her dying day. Her precious little boy. They could say what they want. She was his mother. Nothing could change that. And then, suddenly, like a burst of magic, something happened. He stilled. He gurgled. He was happy with her. And she could burst with pride.

The next ten years of his life? Every day she became his mother a bit more, learning his quirks. His likes and dislikes. Every single time he was sick, he would turn to her. Every single time. And she loved him, for everything he was. She was his mother, through and through. Even in his mannerism when he turned against her, she could see herself in him. Through nurture. And what a spectacular boy he was!

She couldn't keep her eyes off the mirrors any longer. She studied herself. She knew she wasn't perfect. In fact, she never thought she was, or would ever be. But she couldn't believe she was all bad either. But nobody would see that. They wouldn't let themselves see that.

"Mom?"

Her head snapped up at the sound. It couldn't be. Just a figment of her imagination. She turned around and looked towards the hidden door.

"Hello?"

She walked slowly towards it. It was his voice, and she could never not answer his call.

"Hello?"

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

She looked straight at the door now and removed the reflection and saw him standing outside. He had come back!

"Are you in there? Can I come in?"

God, she was almost crying!

"Mom?"

He started to walk away when he got no answer, and she couldn't take it anymore. She opened the door, and he turned at the sound.

"Mom? Mom!"

He peeked inside, and went straight for a crushing hug around her middle. She couldn't keep the strangled _"Oh!"_ inside when she enveloped him in a hug that patched up every bit of her broken insides like a miracle. She breathed in his smell, and wanted to stay like that for an eternity and a half.

"You know I'm so glad you're here!" she mumbled.

And for a couple of seconds, all was right in her world.


End file.
